


Porcelain Blurr

by vienn_peridot



Series: Good Clean Fun [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Assets & Handlers, Doll Play, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Grooming, Light Dom/sub, No Smut, Other, you can imagine Shockblurr or no Shockwave at all as you like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-08-10 09:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7838695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of the ways Blurr re-learns how to endure the attention of others after a mission.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Porcelain Blurr

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SoDoLaFaMiDoRe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoDoLaFaMiDoRe/gifts).



> idek what I'm doing with dollplay but I tried, nerd TuT

Whenever they started these sessions Blurr was stiff; his stillness forced and unnatural. He would hold his position woodenly, as if he were jointed with wires tightened a shade too much.

At the start he had squeaked and whined to feel another's hands on his plating; even trusted and familiar ones, ones he consented to let touch him. After many, many sessions he no longer had to offline his vocaliser to keep from making a noise. Both he and his handler were extremely proud of this progress. Those sounds had broken him from the headspace, ruined his handler's concentration and made the scene more difficult for both of them.

While Blurr still wore his pretty choker, it no longer concealed a vocal inhibitor.

His position at the start of a session communicated his mental state to his handler, telling him what Blurr felt the 'doll' needed. He would get that, as well as whatever his handler and the Psych specialists attached to the Intelligence service deemed necessary for his recovery from his last mission.

Today Blurr donned the choker and sprawled face-down on the floor; His limbs at odd angles like a child's toy dropped carelessly, discarded and abandoned in favour of more interesting games.

It would be a while before Longarm arrived. Knowing this, Blurr began to empty his mind while he waited. Past a specified minimum he never knew how long he would be waiting, but for some reason Blurr never got twitchy. Not here, not in this room with his Doll Collar on. The pretence of abandonment and the wait involved in it was part of the scene.

Eventually the steady thump of his fuel pump lulled him into a half-dozing state in which he drifted until the door opened.

Blurr was immediately alert; frame tensing as Longarm entered with deliberately heavy steps and locked the door. The craneformer was humming; a habit he only affected for these sessions, at least that was what Blurr assumed. Even though he could carry a tune Longarm never whistled or hummed at any other time. Despite this Blurr privately thought that the craneformer had a rather present voice. He let himself float on the sound, glad that Longarm was here and he didn’t have to wait so very long today.

Longarm stopped humming when he saw Blurr’s lithe frame spread across the floor and the ungainly sprawl he’d adopted. There was a thoughtful sound that could have been amused or mildly annoyed and then his hands were on Blurr’s frame, warm and strong, lifting the racer from the floor.

Keeping his faceplates blank was easy for Blurr; remembering the right way let his limbs hang wasn’t.

He was always too stiff at the start of a session.

Blurr focused on making sure his frame moved as it was supposed to as Longarm went carefully over his plating with a soft brush, checking seams and joints for wear. He was clean already; the brush was just for show. He had neglected to properly care for his finish however, so Longarm swapped the brush for a polishing cloth. Time oozed past as Longarm meticulously brought Blurr’s plating to a shine he would never normally bother with unless there was someone to impress.

The urge to fidget rose several times and was let to sit, observed and disregard as Blurr focused on the feel of soft organic chamois being smoothed over his frame. No purring engine or vocaliser marred the illusion; Blurr kept his appreciation purely internal as Longarm finished the buffing, sat Blurr on a stool and disappeared from sight.

It was hard to stay upright, hard not to let himself sag into the soft humming and the relaxation slowly creeping through his limbs. Somehow Blurr kept character, hearing Longarm rustle around and then return. A thin, cool line traced along the edge of a wide section of forearm armour drew Blurr’s optics down to see paint and brush in thick-fingered hands, Longarm frowning with concentration as he began to detail the Agent.

An hour slipped by, then two as Longarm went over Blurr’s frame with a fine brush and silver temp-paint that would dissolve under normal solvent. The patterns were more elaborate than normal; starting with long strokes accenting the sweeping lines of his frame and breaking into abstract swirls and curlicues so fine and closely-packed they would look like areas of solid silver from a distance.

When Longarm considered himself finished he left Blurr to sit while the paint dried. Blurr’s limbs were angled in positions that would be challenging to hold for too long, but he trusted his handler not to abuse the power he had in the scene.

When the paint had dried Longarm returned with rhinestones of a pale blue that would complement Blurr’s biolights. He added them sparingly to his designs, turning Blurr into an elegant, tasteful work of art instead of an ostentatious one. Preening internally, Blurr was lifted and carried to an ornate chair. Arranged and propped with strategically placed cushions in a languid, regal pose and left there.

But he wasn’t ignored, oh no.

That would have been contrary to the purpose of this session.

So long as the delicate collar remained clasped around Blurr’s neck he was a doll and his purpose was to be _admired_. To be beautified and posed and _admired_.

He was to be _noticed and observed_.

That was the key to gentling Blurr after specific kinds of missions.

He needed to relearn in the most visceral way that it was safe for him to be seen. And that other part of his meta, the one that had been starved for interaction, it needed to be acknowledged. Blurr’s sense of self needed to be coaxed back from the brink. Even the most thoroughly trained or naturally solitary operatives suffered the emotional effects of being cut off from friendly contact.

Slow warmth spread through Blurr’s frame as he sat, the strange combination of tension and relaxation needed to hold his pose coming more easily now. He was comfortable, secure in his Handler’s benign regard.

Eventually Longarm settled himself with Blurr’s special datapad and a tall flute of something that looked far too dilute for Blurr to bother drinking. After making a few critical adjustments to Blurr’s pose the craneformer settled in to sketch.

It didn’t matter that Longarm wasn’t much of an artist when it came to something other than decorating a frame. (This was a good thing; the craneformer’s sense of depth and proportion were _atrocious._ ) It didn’t matter that nobody but Blurr and whoever was ‘Master’ for these sessions would ever see the contents of the datapad.

What mattered was that after long months of playing hide-and-seek, of staying out of sight and hiding his elegant frame under layer upon layer of itchy camouflage Blurr was clean, shiny and beautiful and _there was no danger in being seen_.

Longarm’s optics focused on him and there was no danger in it; there was appreciation and rapt attention in the wide blue optics of his superior officer and the red sensor set in his forehelm flickered brightly; no doubt registering his thermal presence even when Longarm was frowning down at the lines he’d just made on the datapad. It was a little odd, but no creepier than the way nervous medics habitually scanned those around them.

Secure in the knowledge that he had as much attention as he could handle and that his existence was being acknowledged and valued, Blurr felt the tension surrounding his Spark slowly ebb away to be replaced with contentment. Blurr’s engine took up a near-silent purr, and if he broke character enough for a slight smile his Handler made no comment.

He was seen, and that was all that mattered.


End file.
